


Festis bei umo canavarum, mage.

by SkyOfDust



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Hate Sex, Fenders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyOfDust/pseuds/SkyOfDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black Emporium is always the start for great adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm tired too

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Soldiers of the Wasteland.

The Black Emporium was a place of evil. That was the thought that crossed Fenris' mind every time he entered the room full of magic. Xenon was as strange as his shop and each object Hawke touched was vibrating like a staff in an apostate's hands. Fenris' own sword had enchantments of course, and it served his purpose well enough. As long as magic was a useful tool, he could handle the itch it provoked under his lyrium-branded skin.

"Stop that, Fenris !" Hawke said from the other side of the room.

"What ?"

"I know you're frowning again, you broody elf."

"I am not !"

"He is."

Fenris glanced at the abomination beside him and his frown deepened.

"Thanks for proving my point" Hawke said, appearing by their side, a strange object in his big gauntleted hands.

"What have you found this time ?" the mage asked with an exasperated but quite amused sigh, glancing at the artifact.

"I have no idea."

Hawke handed it to Anders, who carefully took it and examined it. It was a simple stick, carved with strange runes that changed every time one looked at them.

"It's obviously magical. Elvhen I think."

It glowed faintly, responding to Anders' magic, and Fenris took a step back.

"It's not going to hurt you, wimp."

"You said it was magic. It's evil."

"Maker have mercy ! Just shut it up about evil. You never fought real evil."

"Did you ?"

"I passed my Harrowing !"

"Mages don't fight evil. They surrender to it !"

"Tevinter slaves serve the evil then."

Fenris' eyes widened and he surged forward, all fear of magic forgotten in a second. The lyrium flared to life and lighted up the Black Emporium, as the warrior grasped the mage's throat with his whole strength and pushed him to the floor, straddling him for a better grasp. Anders' hand found his arm and tried to pull it, the glowing stick stuck between his fingers and the olive skin of the elf. The artifact glowed a bit stronger when it touched the lyrium and Anders felt Justice screaming in his mind until he surrendered to the spirit in order to save his own life. On the edge of suffocating, Justice released a strong force spell Hawke had taught Anders. The warrior was shoved back, Justice returned on the back of Anders' mind and the healer coughed before trying to breathe in slowly, all this in just a few seconds. He looked up at Hawke, glaring, while he healed his throat, thanking Justice for doing what he didn't dare to do.

"What ?" Hawke asked with an innocent look, raising two hands. "Was I supposed to get involved ? How am I supposed to separate a mage-hater murderous elf and a spirit of the Fade who want to kill each other ?"

"Leave !" Xenon's voice rang in their ears and Hawke shook his head with disbelief.

Fenris was unconscious, lying on the floor between two crates full of enchanted rings and amulets.

"We're leaving" Hawke said, shoving the elf on his shoulder without any difficulty. "Are you all right ?" he asked to Anders who stumbled a bit and nodded, following his fellow mage out of the Black Emporium. "He's gonna kill you when he wakes up."

Anders frowned. He had not dared using magic against the elf, more out of respect than fear. Justice did it for him, and now he regretted letting the spirit take control. No doubt he'd hear the 'you're weak' speech again. He accompanied Hawke to Fenris' mansion, where the man laid the elf on the huge bed. It would have been simple to heal the elf, suffer his bad mood after 'filthy magic' was used upon him without his consent, and get it over with. But again, Anders knew better than to use magic on an unconscious former slave. Earlier, he only defended himself : he somehow had no choice. He couldn't feel guilty for this – even if he did, in the end. Now he couldn't willingly go against all the elf's believes and wants.

"Anders…" Hawke whispered, looking at the sun in the sky – he had an appointment with Orsino and couldn't miss it.

"Don't say anything, Hawke" Anders answered with a sigh. "I'll stay and watch over him until he wakes up."

"Thank you"

"If he kills me, I kill you !"

Hawke grinned and nodded before he turned on his heels and left. Anders spent hours repeating his apologies in his mind, readying himself to be thrown across the room. He told goodbye to his heart, made sure his staff was far away so that he wouldn't automatically reach it if threatened, and shoved Justice to the back of his mind. What he hadn't expected was to fall asleep on his chair while waiting for the elf to regain consciousness.

When Fenris awoke, he only felt the pain that hammered in his head. Then he saw a familiar potion on the bedside table : the one he usually drank for hangovers. He swallowed it quickly and, eyes closed, waited for the headache to vanish. Finally, he sighed in relief and returned on the pillows. However, he heard something foreign though not far from his bed, and was on his feet in a second, his eyes searching for his sword as he couldn't find it at its usual place. That's when he noticed the mage, snoring ever so lightly, leaning on the back of his chair, his head falling backwards and his amber eyes closed above heavy dark bags that explained why the mage had thought the manor safe enough to fall asleep in despite Fenris' presence. Fenris could have hesitated, but he didn't despite the urge of compassion that threatened to weaken him.

The elf grabbed the mage's collar, pulled him violently on his feet as he awoke immediately, and shoved him against the nearest wall. And then the most violent wave of fear he ever felt crushed him and he found himself panting, looking at the floor with widened eyes as his grip on the mage's coat loosened a bit.

“What's that?” he whispered, suddenly weak.

“You hit your head, you should sit.”

“Don't tell me what to do, abomination!”

He shoved Anders against the wall again and his lyrium brands flared in anger. Again, fear spread in his body, annihilating the storm of hate that was raging on only seconds before. He only lived through it, only breathed fear, tasted fear. He was Fear.

“What are you doing to me?” he exclaimed to the mage, staring at amber eyes, waiting for an answer as his own legs shook and his head was fuzzy.

Anders raised a hand and put it gently on Fenris' arm, soothing.

“I am doing nothing. You hit your head and should lie again. You lost consciousness for hours.”

The fear had stopped suddenly. Disappeared, just like that. And anger rose in his chest again.

“That was _your_ fault!”

The mage closed his eyes and his head came to rest on the wall. Fenris frowned. He was tired of this too, of this violence between them, of words, of magic, of slavery, bickering, arguments, fists and blood. They had fought more than once. And it never felt so wrong.

“I apologize.”

He let go of the mage, who stayed still, and sat on the chair nearby – or falling on it would be more accurate.

“Fenris, I...” the mage whispered, his eyes still closed.

“I'm tired.”

Anders opened his eyes and Fenris frowned when he read in amber pupils the understanding they struggled to reach every hour of the day.

“I'm tired too. I just need to check on you now that you're awake and I'll go home.”

A needle seemed to poke his heart at the word 'home' and he furrowed his brows. He straightened on his chair, tensed, as the mage approached him.

“How's your vision? Is it blurr? Can you hear well? Do you remember… Nevermind” he said, shaking his head.

“Would have been quicker to just heal me, don't you think? But you wanted your little revenge, leaving me unconscious and...”

“Shut up.”

Anger. Hatred. So powerful. So much of him was poisoned right now. Tainted to the deepest part of his soul. And again, it disappeared quickly, as the mage sighed heavily.

“I do not wish to argue with you tonight. As I said, I'm tired too. Let's get it over with. Wanna be healed? I'm just fine with it.”

Before Fenris could answer, the mage's slender fingers reached his forehead and he felt a wave of magic shake him, flare his markings on the way down until he felt it vanish in his toes, his whole body still singing with the sensation. Anders took his staff, grumbled a 'good night' and almost fled the mansion.

He stopped once outside, took a deep breath and started to walk to Darktown. He hated crossing the city alone at night. Not that he was afraid of smugglers and rogues, he could handle these threats just fine, but the danger was within. He felt so alone in this big city. Invisible. He felt like nobody. Like nothing.

And of course, it started to rain.


	2. Rainfall

Anders liked the rain. Somehow. Sometimes. He always felt his heart stir when standing alone in the rain in a big city like Kirkwall. He began to wander in the streets, enjoying the feeling of each cold drop crashing on his skin. Soon enough, as he was still in Hightown, he realized he was in front of the Chantry. Anders looked at the building, high in the sky. It looked different under the rain. Anders felt no hatred towards the Chantry, towards the Grand Cleric. He just could not understand how religion would admit such an injustice. The Templars were, at first, created to watch over the mages, to protect them from themselves, from demons, from their weakness, not to protect the whole world against them, as if one young lost apostate was more dangerous than a bunch of cruel assassins. It was not their fault they were born this way. Why would the Maker allow them to possess magic if…

Anders sighed. It was no time to think of his manifesto. He should go home before catching cold. But he seemed hypnotized by the sight of the high building, crashing him from above. Last time he entered, he killed his former lover. He could have cried at the loss, he could have had regrets and looked sadly at the past. But Anders was not like that. Anders was not the kind to embrace melancholia. He was strong enough to endure every last trial of the Maker without shedding a tear. He shook his head. He had to go home. His manifesto was waiting for him. And if it could not end peacefully with the words he tried to share, he would sacrifice his own life to fulfill his purpose.

 

Fenris was tossing and turning again and again in his bed. He heard the rain falling, and the drops that passed the hole in the roof, ending up in the pan Fenris put on the floor so he wouldn't have to clean it at each rainfall.

Fenris furrowed his brows. Something was wrong. He felt… He felt something deep, something unpleasant rising in his chest. It took him several minutes to put a name on it: melancholia. Terrible growing melancholia that was eating him alive. He tried to turn it in rage: he was used to anger. But he could not. Nothing was anger and everything was sadness. What was he supposed to do to fight it? He couldn't even hate it as pain ate everything else. It was a foreign feeling for the broody elf and he didn't know what to do with it. Sadness was never productive. Anger was. Anger led him to freedom.

He suddenly needed to get out. Usually, he liked to be locked, safe, in his old mansion. Not tonight. He needed the air and the space and the horizon and the sky. As he opened his eyes, he looked at the dark sky through the window and felt the urge to feel the rain on his bare skin. So he went out, barefoot as usual, without his armor but taking his sword, just in case he would encounter some smugglers. He wandered there, a hand on his chest, hoping the feeling that was crushing his heart would go away. In the dark, he caught sight of a tall silhouette standing in front of the Chantry. That was a weird sight in the middle of the night, standing in the cold rain. He approached a bit closer, a hand readying itself above his sword, all thought of sorrow forgotten as deep resentment washed over him. A strong wave of bitterness. And then he recognized the mage.

“Mage?”

The apostate didn't hear the warrior. He suddenly raised both arms and looked at the sky, as if to enjoy the rain.

“Here I am!” he screamed at the clouds. “You ripped my family apart, you tortured my friends, you killed my lover, you stole my freedom, you destroyed my future, condemning me to the Circle, to the Blight. What else do you want from me? I have nothing left to lose. My life is not even mine to live anymore. What else can you steal from me?”

'It's always seemed like he must have lost even more than the rest of us.' Fenris remembered Lirene's words. At the time, he only huffed, knowing she had no idea whom she was talking to, former slave from the Tevinter Imperium. But now, he realized no matter who would enter her shop, she would always be right. No one could ever have lost more than the mage.

“Mage!” he yelled a little louder so that the fool apostate who drew attention on him in the middle of the night, in front of the chantry, while carrying a staff, would turn his attention on him and stop screaming at the Maker.

The renegade mage lowered his arms and turned slowly to look at Fenris. The elf expected to see a blue light burning in his eyes. But it was just Anders standing in the rain, no spirit of justice, no angry demon taking control over a weak man.

“What are you doing here, Fenris?”

Anders approached, tilting his head with curiosity.

“Are you all right? You should rest, even if I healed you.”

“I heard what you said.”

Anders shifted, his cheeks blossoming as he seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well, I guess I should pray in my head next time.”

“That was a prayer?” Fenris raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Yeah, well. Justice does not approve of me joining my hands and kneeling just to ask some favor to a nug-shit bastard up there, who abandoned us and...”

“Caution, mage. I might repeat your words to Sebastian.”

Anders huffed and shrugged.

“Well, he'll be delighted to think I believe in the Maker.”

“Do you?”

Anders smiled mysteriously and shrugged again, before looking at the sky.

“The rain has stopped.”

“Indeed.”

They were both soaked to the skin, shivering in the cold, but it seemed like they shared something more than bitterness at that very moment.

“Well, good night, Fenris.”

“Wait! May I… escort you?”

 

Anders dared not to make a comment as they were on their way to Darktown. Of course he knew exactly why the elf had insisted on accompanying him: he was in need of Anders' skills. It was pretty obvious, since the mage-hating cranky warrior would not suffer Anders' presence out of a desire to protect the mage or to make a good deed. They walked in peaceful silence and it was an alter, though Anders was still tensed in Fenris' presence, and could easily guess that the elf was in the same state of distrust.

They soon reached the clinic and Anders unlocked the door.

“Well, I'll leave you.” Fenris said before turning on his heels.

“Don't be a fool. Come in. I know why you're here.”

They came in and Anders closed the door behind them, before facing Fenris.

“How? Do you feel something? There's something wrong with me?”

“Obviously. I've noticed it at our first meeting.” Anders answered in a mocking tone and Fenris folded his arms.

“Because, of course, there's nothing wrong with a possessed apostate.”

“I'm not the one seeking aid to said possessed apostate.”

“I do not seek your aid, abomination!” Fenris barked, pointing an accusing finger at Anders.

“Then why are you here? Care to apologize for acting like a wanker at your mansion?”

“I owe you no apology. Your demon knocked me down!”

“You were strangling me!”

“You deserved it!”

Anders knew that a flicker of blue sparked in his eyes as he felt Justice surge forward at the injustice of this. The elf's lips quirked up in a condescending little smirk and Anders wanted to rip it out of his pretty face. Fenris furrowed his brows as he seemed to remember his own anger and his hands clenched in tight fists. They were glowering at each other, until Anders gave up the fight.

“So, why are you here, Fenris?” he asked, leaning his staff against the wall and gesturing towards a cot so that Fenris would sit.

The elf looked startled at the sudden change of attitude, and didn't seem angry anymore. He hesitantly glanced at the cot before he huffed and sat.

“Since I hit my head, there's… well, I feel… something's wrong.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“Fuzzy, dizzy?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“If you could just listen to me!”

“Then say something that actually makes sense!”

“Something's changed. Do you think, when I hit my head, it could have side effects?”

“Nothing I can't heal. Though I don't understand what you mean. What side effects?”

“Just heal me and be done with it.”

“Anything so you can leave.”

Anders' hands started to glow and Fenris frowned when his fingers got closer to him. The mage put his hand on Fenris' chest and closed his eyes, focused. His magic was searching for any injury, any wound, any illness, but Anders found nothing. He was about to tell the elf he was perfectly fine when his magic reached a particular spot and Anders frowned. Suddenly, Fenris' markings lit up and Anders felt his mana being drained entirely before he could draw away. He jerked and fell, ending on his hands and buttocks in the dust, panting, eyes wide. Fenris shot him a questioning glance.

“What?” he asked.

“You did that on purpose, didn't you?”

“What? Lightning my markings? I didn't. You did.”

“You… stole my mana!”

“I did no such thing.”

“No of course, because a searching spell always leaves me with only a drop of mana left!”

“Look, mage.” Fenris warned as he stood up, but he suddenly fell back on the cot after stumbling a little. “What...”

“So high on mana, uh?”

Anders rubbed his dirty pants and coat, before trying to stand, as exhaustion claimed him. He finally rose up to his feet and glared at Fenris.

“Stop looking down at me.”

“Ha! Very funny! You're the one looking down at everybody. As a former slave, one would have guessed you had less pride.”

Fenris was on his feet in a second, his fingers reaching out to catch Anders' throat, but the mage dodged and grabbed his wrist before punching him in the guts. Fenris' breath caught in his throat and he coughed, before his other hand, clenched in a tight fist, ran through the air and hit hardly Anders' nose. The apostate's head fell backwards and he was calling for magic in his hands, forgetting he didn't have any mana left. He felt blood running down his face. Though, when he glanced at the elf, ready to return the favor, he suddenly froze. The warrior's nose was bleeding like a fucking waterfall. Just as Anders' apparently. They both immediately calmed down and searched for the other's gaze.

“How did you manage to…?”

“How did you do that?” Fenris said simultaneously.


End file.
